


And A Happy New Year

by inkvoices



Series: the kissing series [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Kissing, M/M, Multi, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, f-word use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkvoices/pseuds/inkvoices
Summary: Bucky can’t keep his eyes off Clint and Natasha at the New Year’s Eve party.It doesn't matter that Natasha is the best thing Bucky can remember from his past or that Clint is one of the best things in his present. He refuses to fuck that up just because watching them has reignited his sex drive with a vengeance.Clint dips Natasha as the current song melts into something slower, catches Bucky's eye over the top of her head, and…winks.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Series: the kissing series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084451
Comments: 15
Kudos: 42
Collections: Winterwidowhawk Fest





	And A Happy New Year

**Author's Note:**

> An OT3 sequel to [A Kissing Story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21935155) for everyone who asked for asked for more kissing. Beta read by the lovely CloudAtlas.
> 
> Wishing you all the best for 2021 x

Bucky has seen Natasha in a lot of different outfits over the years, some he remembers better than others. He knows when she decides to pull out all the stops that she always looks good, but tonight she looks _amazing_. 

Her hair's in some kind of updo, all fancy loops at the back with a few loose curls escaping at the sides to frame her face. Beautiful but touchable; he wants to sink his hands into it. A simple necklace kisses the hollow of her throat, catching the light, and she’s wearing this red silky dress that hugs her curves on top and flares out to swish around her legs, with a slit up one side showing off one of her thighs as she dances. The back of the dress dips down low and her partner has one broad palm pressed against bare skin, holding her close.

And _her partner_...

Stark's New Year's Eve party is the first time Bucky's seen Clint Barton dressed to the nines. At first glance he's a perfect match for Natasha, like her opposite number in a classy film. That tux _has_ to be tailored to fit his biceps so well, not to mention showing off his broad shoulders, trim waist, and long legs. But then there's Clint's hair, which looks as though he’s just rolled out of bed. Bucky might want to bury his fingers in Natasha's hair just to feel, but with Clint's he doesn't know if he wants to tidy it up or to mess it up worse. And Clint's wearing _novelty cufflinks_ with _that suit_ , which should be a crime. And yet, the just rolled out of bed look is somehow attractive and the silver arrows somehow manage to look classy and cute, so at a second glance even though Clint _should_ look like Natasha is way out of his league instead he’s like… the _fun_ kind of leading man who cleans up nice at the end. 

The pair of them together in formal wear are a wet dream. The pair of them in formal wear and _dancing together_ , holy shit. It’s like when they spar, competent and completely in sync, but now they’re also loose and relaxed and laughing, and wearing _those clothes_. Fuck. Bucky needs to not be here right now, for the sake of his sanity, but he can't rip his eyes away. 

"I still can't figure out if those two are together or not," a woman in a green dress comments, having wandered away from a small cluster of guests to stand next to Bucky with an obligatory flute of champagne in her hand. "I don't suppose you have any insider knowledge you'd care to share?"

She has a sugary sweet smile and a face vaguely familiar from press conferences.

"I'm not an Avenger," Bucky tells her.

"Occasional Avenger?" she tries, like all it takes is suiting up for a few recent missions to claim the name. He doesn't bite and she shrugs, smile still plastered on. "Well, you live with them."

Bucky downs the rest of his own champagne. It’s the first one he was given and he's been holding onto it for so long it's gone flat and warm. Keeping it in his left hand instead might have helped, but he'd rather have a shitty room temperature drink than flash his metal hand around at eye level and draw attention from any leeches like this one who might not otherwise recognise him.

"Excuse me," he says, holding up the empty glass as a flimsy justification for leaving. She looks a bit put out as he walks away, but she'll find someone else to poke at. People like her always do.

He sells his exit by going to the bar. It's an open bar on Stark's tab tonight anyway, so why not? It takes a hell of a lot of alcohol and too much effort to get Bucky drunk these days – and when he’d put that to the test it turns out he doesn’t like getting fucked in the head more than he already is, so he’s not _planning_ to get drunk either. It's nothing but the best stuff for Stark though, so at least he can get something that tastes decent as a suitable party prop.

Bucky ends up staring at Natasha and Clint again while he's waiting for his cocktail. 

Wet. Dream.

Sometimes having an inscrutable mask as a default facial expression comes in handy, like when trying to pretend he's not mentally drooling over the hottest couple in the room. It’s his eyes that will give him away if he’s not careful, the traitors, unable to keep away from them.

He understands why no one can figure the two of them out. They move like they're telepathic, their partnership honed until they're perfectly in tune with each other, but in public they dance along the edge of friends-siblings-partners-lovers so well that any label could arguably fit. It's a typical Natasha kind of game and Bucky had thought that Clint played along for her, but he’s come to learn Clint also enjoys confounding people's expectations.

When they're not in public? Well, it's only been since the start of December and the mistletoe incident that they've been demonstrative in front of the team, but it's like they've gone from nought to sixty faster than one of Stark's flash cars. Snuggling up together on movie nights, casual touches during meals, leaning on each other during breaks in team training sessions, kissing in corridors, making out in the gym… 

Bucky absolutely appreciates that they can't get enough of each other and it's not like they're breaking any indecency laws, but he's been trying not to look and somehow they just keep showing up in his space. It’s too often to be a coincidence. Maybe Natasha is testing him in some way, but whatever, Bucky doesn't want to play. He'd give his other arm for Natasha to always be this happy after all the shit that she's been through and Clint is a really great guy who actually deserves her, so it doesn't matter that Natasha is the best thing Bucky can remember from his past or that Clint is one of the best things in his present. He refuses to fuck that up just because watching them has reignited his sex drive with a vengeance. 

Clint dips Natasha as the current song melts into something slower, catches Bucky's eye over the top of her head, and… _winks_. Show off. Bucky rolls his eyes in return. Clint whispers something in Natasha's ear as she slides back into his arms and when they rotate she seeks Bucky out, grinning at him. She looks like the cat that got the cream and wants another helping.

The bartender lets out a low whistle as she slides Bucky's drink over.

"I'd count myself lucky if I could find _one_ person who'd look at me like that," she says.

"Thanks," Bucky mutters, unable to resist adding the caveat of, "for the drink." 

It's petty, but he’s not in the mood. He's had more than enough of being around people and their stupid assumptions for one day.

 _How does it feel being one of the good guys?_ from the Press, like Bucky had a fucking choice before in being drafted by the Army or being taken by Hydra, and like working with the Avengers now doesn't mean killing people. _And how did that make you feel?_ from his therapist, like he lets himself feel anything about what people like that say, as if an emotional reaction would be useful. _Wow, cleaned up nice there, Barnes,_ from Stark with a double thumbs up, like Bucky hadn’t been the definition of a snappy dresser before Tony Stark was even fucking born.

 _Occasional Avenger?_ Like watching Steve’s back for the past three months makes up for almost killing him on top of that Helicarrier. Like a bit of therapy means he’s cured. Like all of a sudden he’s a goddamn hero. Like he’s even in the same ballpark as Steve, as Clint and Natasha, Sam, _actual god_ Thor -

Fuck it, he's only here because Steve talked him into it. All 'the rest of the team are going and no one wants you to be left out', and 'Tony invited you, Buck, he's really trying', and 'you know I hate these things too, are you really gonna abandon me?' Only then Sharon had asked Steve if he'd be her date and after the meal she'd actually managed to get him on the dance floor - where it looks like he's as much of a self-conscious disaster as he ever was, so best of luck Sharon - leaving Bucky to be a fucking wallflower.

He wants to leave. He probably shouldn't until after midnight, since sticking around for that is kind of the whole point of the event and there's fireworks planned and stuff, but if he slips away - just for a bit, just until twelve - he won't be missed. Steve's too busy concentrating on trying to find a rhythm and avoiding Sharon's feet, now with heckling from an amused Sam, and Bucky doesn't fool himself that anyone else gives a shit.

He tears his attention away from the dancers and heads out of the designated party area, drink in hand, wearing his best murder stare in case anyone tries to stop him. Unsurprisingly, no one does.

A little exploring scores him an empty conference room, where the city lights shining through the large windows along one wall are enough to see by without him having to risk announcing his hiding place by switching any of the overheads on. It has an oval table surrounded by leather seats, huge screens on the three internal walls, and not much else. Bucky's been in enough of these now to know it's not set up for an event - no bottles of water, no place cards, no coffee station - so it's unlikely people are planning to use it anytime soon. 

Some of the tension eases out of his shoulders as he pulls back one of the chairs near the windows and drops into it with a sigh. There's a pretty good view. He's got a decent cocktail. Everything else can just wait for a bit.

Of fucking course the peace and quiet doesn't last long. 

A couple push through the door, all wrapped up in each other, attached at the lips. Her hands are making a mess of his hair while one of his hands slides up her leg, raising her dress indecently high and revealing a holster wrapped around an all too familiar thigh. An arrow cufflink catches the light as Clint spins Natasha around, shoving the door shut as he pushes her up against it.

"Oh come _on_ ," Bucky complains and they peel apart, Natasha's silky dress flowing back down to cover the gun. "Don't tell me you didn't know I was in here."

"I didn't," Clint says, leaning back against the wall next to the door as he catches his breath. 

Bucky will accept that Clint wasn't aware before he came in, _maybe_ , but there's no chance he missed Bucky once he was inside the room, even while kissing Natasha. He acts dumb sometimes but he has excellent situational awareness and Bucky would put money on him easily recognising Bucky's silhouette.

"I did," Natasha says.

Bucky's eyes might not be as good as Clint's, but they're still sniper-worthy, knock off super soldier serum enhanced and he has the advantage of facing away from the window, so he can see clearly enough in the dim light that Clint has a huge grin on his face and Natasha wears its smaller, sharper cousin. 

She shrugs and tucks her emotions away, although they linger in her posture and the amused twitch of her lips. She still keeps her cards close to her chest, but she holds them loosely around the people she lives with these days, around her team, and apparently Bucky counts. He's not sure how he feels about that at the best of times but right now it's aggravating; if she's so damn comfortable around him then he wishes she would just _tell him what she's playing at_.

The pair of them look otherworldly, with the city lights gleaming in their eyes, glinting off Natasha’s necklace and Clint’s cufflinks, and picking out the highlights in their, now far messier, hair. Bucky isn't sure who he's more jealous of for getting their hands where he's wanted his.

"I mean, I don't mind," Clint adds cheerfully, reading the room and either choosing to ignore the rising tension or trying to ease it.

It doesn't help. Bucky's had to put up with too much in this shitty night - shitty _month_ , even. He really isn't in the mood for games. He tips his glass to Natasha, who's still standing in front of the closed door, and lets his irritation colour his voice. 

"Wanted an audience, did you?"

"Oh, are we talking about this now?" she asks lightly, dangerous, and Bucky stills.

He hopes being backlit by the windows is enough to obscure any immediate reaction he fails to suppress, but he doubts it.

"We were just looking for somewhere private for the countdown," Clint says, casually tucking his hands into his pockets and ruining the lines of his suit, but his eyes are pinned on Bucky, studying him. "There’s a betting pool on us kissing. We wouldn’t want to ruin the fun."

Natasha flashes Clint a smile and, as much as Clint enjoys messing with people, Bucky thinks he'd be kissing her stupid for all to see if she didn't want otherwise. Good, because Natasha deserves that respect, but also bad, because Bucky doesn't need any more reasons to like the guy.

"That," Natasha says, turning a sharper smile in Bucky's direction, "and I thought you might like to watch."

Her words slice through Bucky's last remaining calm and any pretence that she's not been playing with him. 

The room is suddenly claustrophobic, air thick and main exit blocked. His brain races through calculations for getting past them versus leaving through a window. Sitting down has him at a disadvantage; Bucky is instantly on his feet, half empty cocktail glass abandoned in case he needs both hands free. He struggles with his fight or flight response, knowing it’s too much for the current situation and trying to stay in control.

He doesn't know what the hell this is, but he's not playing. He's _not_.

"I’d like to leave," he says flatly.

"Y'know," Clint says, "there are superstitions about the first person you kiss in the New Year." He still sounds so damn casual, like they're all just taking a Sunday stroll in the park, but he's watching Bucky as he walks towards the door - and the two of them. "That they're special, that it sets the tone for the rest of the year, that you'll have a special relationship."

"I didn't know you were superstitious," Bucky bites out.

"A bit." Clint shrugs. "Ex-carny." 

Bucky comes to a halt in front of Natasha. He doesn't want to physically move her out of the way, if he even could when her stance and the hard look in her eyes is warning him not to try and when she has backup standing right next to her. He doesn't want to fight, he just wants to _leave_.

"At a Scottish Hogmanay," Clint continues, "apparently you're supposed to kiss everyone, or at least try to, so no one gets left out."

Bucky's eyes slide over to him as he wonders where the hell Clint is even going with this. He'd thought Natasha was running the show, so then why is Clint doing the talking? 

Bucky wants to snap at him, throw sharp words, but he swallows them down. He gets to choose who he hurts these days. He takes a deep breath instead and tries, "What do you want?"

"I know you and Natasha had a thing," Clint says and Bucky freezes. 

Sure, they're friends and they've talked about a lot of shit, mostly at the shooting range some time between the witching hour and dawn – about being in the army and being a sniper, nightmares and therapy, Loki and Hydra even – but this is hunting the post-war minefield for the last untriggered fucker left that no one else even knows to look for and revving an engine ready to drive straight at it.

Natasha does move then, reaching out to brush her fingertips against Clint's wrist and he takes his hand out of his pocket to tangle their fingers together. Bucky just fights to keep breathing as Clint continues, thankfully driving past that conversational topic to hopefully safer ground.

"But I don't think that's quite the whole story. I'll accept that Steve is possibly exploring his own sexuality and that might be what fuelled his whole rainbow war against Fox News, but I get the impression that he's actually still working that out." 

Bucky doesn't disagree, but it's not his place to say. 

"I think," Clint keeps going, "that Steve Rogers has always been better at standing up for other people rather than himself. I think, maybe, he's been so up in arms about Pride because it affects someone he cares about. A lot." He smiles. "I think you've been watching me just as much as Nat and you like seeing me in a tux."

Fucking _Hawkeye_. 

It's an explosion alright, direct hit, but not from a direction he was expecting. Bucky swallows, mouth suddenly dry despite the half-finished cocktail. 

"Yeah, well, you're a disaster, Barton," he says, trying to brush it off. "Hard to look away."

Bucky really doesn't care what other people think, or say, about his sexuality. Maybe he did once, in a past life, back when looking in the wrong direction was illegal, but there's nothing he can possibly be that's worse than having been the Winter Soldier. Everything else is just... being human. But he'd thought - hoped - that Clint hadn't picked up on it. It's bad enough that Bucky had a 'thing' with Clint's girlfriend; he doesn't want to find out what it'll do to their friendship if Clint finds out Bucky wouldn't mind having a thing with him either.

And it’s bad enough that Natasha knows he’s still watching her, despite him no longer having the right - if he ever really did - and him being a living memory from her fucked up Red Room past. He doesn’t want to know what lengths _she’d_ go to, to protect Clint and what she’s built with him, if she thinks Bucky might be any kind of threat. Which, come to think of it, is maybe something to do with the game she’s playing? Stupid of him to think she wouldn’t have noticed his eyes on both of them and not just her.

How can Bucky explain that it doesn’t matter what he feels for either of them, because he’s never going to act on it? How can he prove that he can control himself?

"Nah, you're not the kind to rubberneck." Clint's still smiling, like he hasn't just triggered a land mine. Like there's no injuries to triage here. "If you're still figuring a few things out yourself, no problem. Or still finding your feet with the team. I just wanted you to know that I think you're hot too." And, for the second time tonight, he fucking winks.

Bucky's brain stalls.

In no universe had he calculated for a Clint Barton who also likes men. For a Clint who's… bisexual, pansexual, whatever fucking label. The point is, a Clint Barton who could _like Bucky back_. Sure, Clint had kissed Tony, Steve, and Sam under the mistletoe, but that was just… joking around, right? Before he’d kissed Natasha and meant it.

Bucky needs a time out, to let the dust settle and see how the terrain has changed, to figure out what the hell is happening here.

"Clint," Natasha says, and that's a soft warning from between sharp teeth. She's always known how far she can push Bucky, but then Clint's not pushing. He's… offering. It's not a tactic Bucky's familiar with. 

And, wait, _what_ is Clint actually offering? Because Natasha can't think Bucky is going to hurt Clint or damage what they have if she's backing up Clint when he’s saying these things, and if Clint isn't concerned about Bucky watching Natasha or himself – 

"What do I want?" Clint says, repeating Bucky's earlier question back to him. "I want to kiss Nat at midnight, and I'd like to kiss _you_ at midnight, and I'd like to watch the two of you kiss. And, like, world peace and all that," Clint adds, grinning, and Natasha rolls her eyes.

"This is both of us asking," she says, turning to give Bucky her full attention. 

He’s starting to get that, but he appreciates her laying it out. He hadn’t calculated for Clint Barton looking back at him and liking what he sees. He sure as hell hadn’t thought Natasha would still be interested in Bucky when she has Clint. The odds of _both_ of them… This was never an option.

“You’re the first person I chose to kiss,” says Natasha, at her most sincere. “Neither of us are the same as we were back then, but we’re not entirely different either and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, James.”

Bucky has to look away for a moment and catches Clint squeezing her hand before he forces himself to meet her gaze again. If Natasha wants to talk to him about the past then the least Bucky can do is look her in the eye while she does.

“There are reasons I wanted you then that still exist. The way you would find small moments when you could be kind,” she tells him softly. Then, with a wicked grin that hits him in the gut, “Your jawline. Your _mouth_. The way you’d look at me.”

He swallows, remembering, and Natasha’s eyes sharpen.

“The way you _still_ look at me and the way you look at Clint, and that makes me want to find new reasons.”

Bucky finds himself actually thinking about it while they stare at each other. What it would be like. To relearn how to make her happy and how to make her body sing. To discover who she is now. Maybe to show Clint a few old tricks and to learn a few new ones in return.

His eyes dart sideways to Clint, unintentionally breaking the moment.

“Just… think it over,” Clint says, bringing the tension down a notch. “It’s an open offer. No rush, yeah?”’

Clint tugs gently on Natasha's hand and she finally moves away from the door, fitting under the arm he curls around her shoulders. They look so good together, curving into each other, fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces.

But despite the now clear exit, Bucky can't bring himself to move.

"You can say no," Clint says, speaking softly into the quiet.

Bucky is not saying no. There are so many ways that this could blow up in their faces, but he can’t say no.

"Or you can say yes," Clint says after a pause. “Consent is sexy."

Then he wriggles his eyebrows, which shouldn’t be attractive at all, but somehow - like the novelty cufflinks and the scruffy hair - is just so very _Clint_ , and Bucky is fond of that whole damn package. Clint Barton is competent and dangerous, just as much as Natasha and Bucky, but in his own way and on his own terms, and somehow, when he wants to, he can make even the strangest or most ridiculous things seem normal and easy. 

And then there’s Natasha, with all her sharp edges, who carved herself into Bucky’s bones long ago, now soft and smiling at him from under Clint’s arm.

"I mean, there's also a tradition where if you _don't_ kiss anyone at midnight it means you'll have a lonely year,” Clint adds, like he’s incapable of shutting up. It’s almost like he’s nervous. Natasha leans further into him and he finally stops with a small wince.

“What do _you_ want?” she asks Bucky.

Bucky wants to sink his hands into Natasha’s hair, then slowly unpin it, one curl at a time, until he can run his fingers through it. He wants Clint to sit next to her, with his head leaning on Natasha’s shoulder, so Bucky can just reach over and mess with Clint’s hair as well. Maybe tug a little and see what noises Clint makes. And Clint can tilt his head to kiss Natasha, and Bucky - Bucky wants permission to touch them while he watches.

He clears his throat and tries not to laugh as he thinks of his therapist telling him to ‘use his words’, because he’s pretty sure this wasn’t the kind of situation she had in mind.

“I’d like - what Clint said,” he tries and is mortified to feel himself blushing, heat spreading across his face and down his neck. “You - the two of you. Together, you’re amazing to watch. It’s like, the way you just fit, move together.” 

Bucky finds himself tensing up and tries to relax, to settle back into himself. He takes a deep breath in and slowly exhales. He used to be _good_ at this, damn it. How did he used to stand when he was flirting? Open and inviting and _this could be all yours_. 

“Yeah, Clint, I think you look hot in a tux. And in your uniform and your gym gear and even half-dressed hunting for coffee in the mornings. _Especially_ when you’re shirtless, and I have no idea how that happens as often as it does.”

Natasha laughs and Bucky finds himself grinning at her.

“And you, Natasha, you always look amazing. How the hell was I ever supposed to stop looking at you? And the two of you together, you’re a fucking wet dream,” he says, words gaining momentum like he’s running downhill. “I wanted to stop watching, I tried, but I just couldn’t. Even out there,” he says, waving a hand at the closed door and the party somewhere beyond it, “in that room full of beautiful, glamorous people dressed to impress, _none_ of them have the chemistry that you do. None of them look half as hot and competent and _alive_ as the two of you on that dance floor. How the hell am I supposed to do anything _but_ watch when you kiss each other? And you want - you’re saying - I mean _more_ than that…”

Bucky trails off, struggling for words again.

“Jesus.” Clint licks his lips, his arm tightening around Natasha like he needs something to hold onto, to ground himself in reality. “Is that a yes? Nat, is he saying yes?”

“Yes," Bucky tells him, relieved and a touch exasperated. "I’m saying yes. Fuck.”

Clint beams.

“Well, maybe later, if you ask nicely.”

Bucky barks out a laugh because he can’t help it, even if it’s short lived and rough in his throat, and Natasha smiles at both of them like she’s won the best prize ever.

"God, is it midnight yet?" Clint says. "Do we have to wait? Can we just skip to the kissing part now?”

Natasha leans away from him slightly to push the conference room door open, just a crack, and with excellent timing the sound of the countdown creeps through: twelve, eleven, ten.

"Hey," Clint says, then waits until he has Bucky's undivided attention. "I'd really like to kiss you now, if that's okay? Or do you want to watch first?" He smiles, soft and teasing. "If you need a reminder of how it’s done?"

"Think you've been giving me reminders all damn month," Bucky says, trying to show how irritating that’s been, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement he can’t quite hide now all of that teasing is escalating to something more.

He wonders if Clint wants to kiss him first because they’re the two people in this triangle that haven’t before, or if it’s a test to see how he feels about kissing a man, but he can’t keep second guessing and questioning this, not when he gets to have something nice for once. He wants it too much to let his dumb brain get in the way.

Clint waits for Bucky to come to him, all loose limbed and inviting. He keeps his arm around Natasha, which means she’s right there when Bucky steps into Clint’s space, their shiny polished dress shoes bumping up against each other. Clint is taller than him. It’s not something he usually notices, when they’re sparring or shit talking each other or lounging in front of the TV, but there’s something about having to look up at Clint to kiss him that hits him low in the gut and makes him feel weak in the knees. He wants to know what else Clint can make him feel. 

He wants to touch Clint’s hair, so he does, smoothing it back where Natasha has made it stick up.

“You ever kissed a guy before?” Clint asks, checking in one last time.

“Refresh my memory,” Bucky deadpans.

Clint’s smiling when he leans in and captures Bucky’s lips. He places his free hand on Bucky’s hip, just resting it there, and lets Bucky lead. It _has_ been a while, so Bucky starts out slow, exploring how their mouths move together. He lets his eyes slide shut and ends up clutching at the lapels of Clint’s suit jacket, leaning into Clint’s warmth and learning how he tastes. When he tries a little tongue Clint makes a noise at the back of his throat that startles Bucky into opening his eyes and jerking back slightly, sucking in air and staring at him, because that noise went straight to his dick and, fuck, he really, really wants to hear that again.

When he pulls his eyes away, he catches Natasha watching, her chin resting on Clint’s shoulder, and it just seems so easy to drift in her direction when he’s already feeling unsteady. Clint’s hand on his hip keeps him balanced as Bucky orientates himself to her.

Kissing Natasha is familiar-strange. Bucky keeps his eyes open this time and they kiss quickly at first, like the chance could be snatched away at any moment. She bites at his bottom lip, slowing things down, but doesn’t draw blood, and reaches up with her free hand to rest it on the back of Bucky’s neck and direct him where she wants. It means the three of them end up in a little huddle that probably looks weird but feels close and intimate as she presses her lips against his over and over, closed-mouthed, and then nips at his jaw, sending electricity buzzing down his spine. 

He shudders, recalling the way she’d said, ‘ _Your jawline. Your mouth._ ’ 

Natasha pulls back with a small smirk, but stays close. She straightens Bucky’s bowtie and he forces himself to let go of Clint’s suit, to give her space, but then he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He watches them slide down Clint’s shirt and ghost over his abs like they belong to someone else. 

Clint still has his left arm around Natasha, although it slips down from her shoulders to around her waist. His right hand disappears from Bucky’s hip so he can rub his thumb against the corner of Bucky’s mouth, eyes dark as he mutters, “Lipstick.” Then he takes hold of Bucky’s wandering left hand, links their fingers together, and squeezes; the same gesture he’d used with Natasha earlier. Bucky leaves his other hand resting just above Clint’s belt and stares at them both, right here in front of him, unable to think past how good he feels right now.

“Hey,” Clint says, drawing Bucky’s attention, voice rough and making Bucky wonder what he might sound like after swallowing Bucky’s cock. “Front row seat this time, yeah?”

Then Clint and Natasha turn to each other. Natasha braces herself with one hand on Clint’s upper arm and the other on Bucky’s shoulder as she goes up on her tiptoes slightly and Clint tilts his head down towards her, still with an arm around her waist and his other hand holding Bucky’s. And Bucky is right there, with permission to watch, as their lips meet. With permission to _touch_ , he realises suddenly, feeling drunk on the possibilities. 

They kiss slowly at first, playful and clearly trying to put on a show. There’s a few dangling curls of Natasha’s hair hiding part of her face, so Bucky dares to take his hand off Clint’s stomach to slowly tuck the strands behind her ear, running his fingers down the edge of her ear as he does. Her grip tightens on Bucky’s shoulder. Her lips part. Clint takes advantage and the kissing turns open mouthed and really fucking hot. 

Bucky sucks on his own bottom lip, feeling like he’s watching them have sex with their clothes on. He has to reach down and adjust himself slightly in his tailored suit pants and they’re all stood so close together that the back of his hand brushes accidentally against Clint’s own half hard cock. Clint squeezes Bucky’s left hand again, much tighter this time, and groans into Natasha’s mouth. She drags her lips away and tilts her head even further back, taking a deep breath like a swimmer surfacing as Clint presses kisses down the line of her throat. He stops when he reaches her necklace and rests his forehead against her collarbone, sucking in air. Bucky gives in to the urge to give him a little peck on the cheek, feeling breathless himself.

They take a moment to gather themselves and just breathe. 

Gradually, Bucky becomes aware of the sound of Auld Lang Syne coming through the cracked open door and of fireworks exploding in the distance outside the windows behind him, lighting up Clint and Natasha’s faces with small bursts of coloured light.

“Oh.” Clint blinks, a grin settling on his face. “Fireworks! We’ll be missing Stark’s show.”

Which means _they’ll_ be missed. Natasha and Clint will probably be wanted for a team photo op. Steve will be looking for Bucky, to wish him a Happy New Year and to check that he’s okay with the loud noises, even though Stark made a point of explaining the building is soundproofed and there’s an option to watch their party’s firework display from inside. 

“We should go back,” Bucky says, reluctantly.

Clint squeezes his hand once more before finally letting go. He steps back, pulling away and breaking up their little circle, and Bucky feels strangely bereft. 

"Hey, how do you feel about dancing?” Clint asks. “Because I call first dibs.”

“My turn to watch,” Natasha says, looking delighted. 

Bucky likes to dance. He used to be pretty good at it actually and he’d love to try dancing with either of them, but it’s been a hell of a long time and he’s definitely going to be rusty, so he ends up looking at Clint dubiously. 

Natasha must think it’s the idea of being seen dancing with a guy that has him worried, because she adds, “When we snuck out Sam had taken over trying to teach Steve a few moves. Spoiler alert: it was not going well.”

Bucky sighs. “How that man can fight like he does but not dance remains a mystery. Maybe it would help if it was competitive dancing or something.”

“Saving the day with a dance off?” Clint grins. “Ooo, Dance Dance Revolution?”

Bucky doesn’t know what either of those things are, but he can imagine.

“You know,” Natasha says thoughtfully, a wicked glint in her eyes, “there’s this TV show for celebrities learning to dance – ”

“If you criticize our skills anything like those judges, or like Sam was calling out Steve, I'm hanging up my dance shoes,” Clint threatens.

“Please,” Bucky drawls, summoning his confidence and a winning smile. It might have been a long time since he last danced, but it’s also been a long time since he last did any kissing and flirting, so to hell with it. Today seems to be his day. “We’re gonna show ‘em how it’s done.”

Clint beams at him while Natasha adjusts the shoulders of her dress and checks that it’s draped properly to hide her thigh holster, reminding Bucky to also make sure his appearance is suitable for going back out in public. Somehow her make-up still looks fine, making Bucky dubious of Clint’s lipstick cleaning move earlier, and while more of her hair has escaped it looks like it’s meant to be that way. She runs her hands through Clint’s messy hair and tugs on his suit jacket, but Clint is a lost cause at this point. He still looks hot.

Clint’s the one who eventually opens the door the rest of the way and ushers them both out of the conference room. Bucky follows Natasha into the corridor, blinking as his eyes readjust to the bright overhead lights, and Clint brings up the rear with a warm guiding hand on Bucky’s lower back that feels like it’s burning through his suit jacket. 

Natasha pauses to tuck her hand in the crook of Clint’s elbow, then hooks her other arm through Bucky’s left, reeling him in until she’s escorted on both sides. 

Bucky finds himself smiling at the thought of the picture they’ll make walking back into the party; Natasha in her red dress bracketed by two sharply dressed men, all of them bright-eyed, pink lipped, and mused enough for speculation.

“Well then,” Natasha says. “Show time.”

And Bucky falls into step with the two of them as they walk back to the party and into the new year.


End file.
